Of Blood and Ice
by ellabeatry
Summary: After the events of the Avengers, Loki flees the tortures of Asgard and falls once again through the branches of Yggdrasil, landing broken in a rural countryside. Now, he must find a way to remove the ancient curse binding his magic and keep his origins hidden from the curious girl who saved him, before the horrors of his past bring destruction to everything around him.
1. Prologue

Hello everyone! This is my first fanfiction ever, so I hope you all enjoy :) This is mainly just for fun, but constructive criticism is always welcome. Happy Reading!

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PROLOGUE

Loki knew what it was like to be afraid. The dark, malignant weight that settled in his chest and deep in his bones was so achingly familiar that he had forgotten how it felt to not bear it with him.

He knew what hopelessness felt like. He had experienced the frozen winds brush across him and freeze his lungs and stop his heart. Sorrow was much the same, like every muscle was seizing all at once and air was no longer light but as heavy as salt water being forced down his throat.

He was familiar with these feelings, and each had their place in his mind, categorized and folded into the deepest, darkest corners he could find until they rose up again. He had long ago become adept at hiding from them, skilled at pushing them down as soon as they rose, so quickly that not a tear was shed before he was numb again. He could almost go on as if he was _normal_, watching the world from behind his smiling mask and fortified steel wall. He could focus on who he pretended to be and push away who he truly was until he convinced himself that he was dead and buried, and only the Loki who was an Aesir Prince, the Loki who belonged, remained.

The_ smiling, caring, sensitive_ Loki who was the son of the King of Asgard and looked up to his golden brother and never once said a word against them. Who performed magic tricks and took their mockery with little more than good hearted laughs, because he loved them. _Light, unburdened, innocent_ Loki who loved the Asgardian people, Thor and the Warriors three and the great Odin, who did not dwell on the darkness and scheme and plot when the stars shined darkly over him. Loki, the youngest Prince who was loyal to the end, who would never betray his kingdom or let his thoughts slip out of his control.

He had become that Loki in every aspect, fit the beast he was into the mold and shaped himself to the role, because it was comfortable and safe. He was hidden behind the lies and magic used to mask his emotions and a fortified steel wall. He was selfish, so selfish that he let himself believe that he was not the monster that lurked below the surface.

But things resurfaced sometimes. Feelings, memories. Truths he had spent centuries running from, blood he had scrubbed from his hands long ago. His steel wall was not impenetrable and was prone to cracks, no matter how easy it now was to repair them. Things came crashing down sometimes, and sometimes the monster inside was so _tired_ of Loki, Prince of Asgard, that he ached to tear everyone apart.

He knew what struggling was, and it was a rope knotted to his spine.

That was why, when the chance came and Thor was banished to Midgard, he took his chance. When Frigga looked to him like he was not the Jotunn monster he knew himself to be, like he was her _son_, he took Gungnir from her and accepted the title of King. Plots and schemes he had only dared to ponder in his darkest mind came to fruition. The monster inside him was eclipsing his facade, sloughing off the lies he had been fed his whole life like blood and dirt, thick and oppressing. He was not Aesir, not family, not kind nor good. He steeled himself against the urges of the long dead parts of him that rose to warn him of the dangers, ignored the hate filled stares of the Warriors Three, and did what he must.

He rose, to power and to something that tasted so much like greatness he could almost tell himself it was. The magic he wielded grew stronger, and he soon found that the disgust and hate the people of Asgard had expressed towards him because of it was _nothing_ compared to the pure fear they had for him now. The pity in Frigga's eyes and the disappointment in Odin's was so pointless now that his origins were made known. It was because of his bad blood, because of his monstrous and twisted true being that he was outcasted and abused as a child. All of that was washed away in the grand sweep of pure _power_ that overtook him and gave him purpose. Never again would they jeer at Loki Laufeyson for the magic that would now destroy them.

But he knew what struggling was, and the knot could never be untied; nor could that dark, leaden weight ever be lifted. It was a bitter truth that came to him in the when the lights had been distinguished, when he lay still under the stars. T_his cannot last. It will never last. You do not deserve it to last._

He was right, of course. He struggled for years, fighting against Thor and Asgard with every drop of magic he had within him, scheming and plotting his way to Midgard, where he overthrew kingdoms and murdered politicians and the innocents that would not bow. The lines were drawn for all to see, Thor with the righteous and Loki with the devils, as they had always known it would be. He fell, but every time he would rise again, stronger, with new allies and even more reason to fight. He would _always_ fight.

But then something had changed. He had been taken down, body broken in the rubble of New York, his magic stripped of him and his mouth muzzled so his lies could not spill forth. Thor was looking down at him with fury and tears of disappointment, and Loki wanted to scream at the scam of a man who thought to call himself _changed,_ worthy of Mjolnir. He wanted to laugh in his face and tell him that he would never forget who he truly was, no matter how much Thor tried to redeem himself. He knew who they all were.

Thor stormed him into Asgard with thunder at his heels and threw Loki before Odin, baring his treacherous schemes to the whole of Asgard. He was too much of the monster inside of him to plead forgiveness - he would not bow to them. Never to them.

And so his skin was stripped from his body and he was shackled to a dungeon floor. The guards took their time with him, and when they were done, he could see nothing but blood - blood on the floor and covering the walls, blood covering his body and dripping into his eyes. They tethered him to a rock and dripped poison into his eyes, snapped his spine and sewed his mouth shut. They bound his magic with words in an ancient, foreign tongue, made it untouchable and useless in it's cage within him. He was alone for what felt like centuries, shackled and starved, bleeding and broken.

This bitter existence was a crushing weight bearing down on him, one endless room filled with all of his fears and memories and sorrow, all of his deeds splayed out for him to face. Physical torture became his only relief from the monster in his mind.

Ages passed, and he slipped away.

Until one night, when the earth rumbled above his cell and cries of celebration rang out from the palace high above him. The Thunderer's name was shouted throughout the streets, and it echoed through the cold halls of the castle and down deep in the earth, where Loki listened. The guards, too drunk from the rich celebratory wine, did not see the knife until their throats were slit. His cell door gaped open, only darkness beyond, and he took his chance.

Loki could do nothing but fight, fight his weak and broken body and the agony taking over every part of him. His last plan was set into motion with every excruciating step towards the luminescent bridge. He did not have to sneak - he was a ghost in the halls, a ghost in the city streets he hobbled through as Thor's coronation was celebrated. He passed taverns filled with music and wild dancing, firelight flickering over the bloodied face that looked within.

He knew it would come to this, he had known it with every fiber of his being. His body did not rebel, his mind did not plead. It was what he must do. He must put an end to the monster he had become. Not for the good of Asgard or it's people, not for the lying royal family or the many branches of Yggdrasil, but for the soul inside of him. The soul beaten and bloodied, ripped apart by those he had loved. For the part of him that still craved Odin's approval like a dying man craved life.

That part needed relief. It needed to die.

When the bridge rose up before him, whole and luminescent, he traveled down it without hesitation. When the familiar, harsh cries of his brother and the guards sounded behind him, quickly approaching, Loki did them all a favor.

He jumped.

And as he fell, he slipped into the space between the stars, between the outstretched branches of Yggdrasil, the darkness that lurked in the further. Only the echo of a far off cry followed him, resonating in his ears like it had so long ago, when he had jumped and landed in the clutches of the Chitauri. But not this time. He had slipped out of existence completely, and he planned to keep it that way.

The creatures in the void looked him in the eyes and stole his secrets, tugged at his soul and made them one of their own. They searched his memories and stole the monster, leaving him nothing but a husk of a person, a ghost left to dwell in darkness. He scattered into a thousand pieces, his soul thrown apart amidst the heavy, oily blackness. A tingling numbness set over him, and he was content.

But then they whispered, the ageless spirits of the void, piercing the silence with their hollow chants. _You are not one of us. This cannot last. Go back. Go back._

They gathered him up and took hold of him, sending him back into life and to the outstretched branches of Yggdrasil, nothing but a torn husk of the god he once was, a jumble of pieces that no longer fit together. He could do nothing but scream as the agony took him over. Scream, and fall.


	2. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Amanda Weston woke to a bright light, fingers and toes numb with cold and a broken clock flashing 4:22. She stared out her window, willing her mind to clear.

The motley array of christmas lights above her bedroom window faded and died before blooming with color, again and again, their forms blurred by the spiderwebs of frost that covered the glass. The fire that had been warm and steady when she went to bed was now nothing more than dying embers and soot, leaving the room bereft of the warmth that had filled it before.

A shiver wracked her spine, and she clutched her comforter, eyes wide in the dark room. All was silent, dead silent, except for the quiet, crackling croons of the old christmas singers coming through the floorboards from the ground floor. The air was thick and heavy, charged and electric.

Something was wrong.

She pushed her blankets aside, leaving her bed for the freezing halls of the upper floors. In the dim light and cold air, the shadows seemed to move around her, making her skin crawl and feet hurry faster down the wide staircase.

She knew she was being paranoid - it was a quality of hers that she could never seem to shake. She thought more than she should about strange noises and eerie shadows and studied monsters and mythology more than her parents would have liked. But those paranoias and curiosities had never once woken her in the dead of night with the same harrowing sense of _wrongness_ that she felt now.

So she checked the front door; locked. She peeked out the curtained windows and surveyed the snow swept lawn, piled higher than she had ever seen. The blizzard still had not stopped, and wild flurries of snow danced through the air and clung to the glass in front of her. But there was nothing wrong.

There was only silence.

Her feet led her past the front desk and to the study, where the open door spilled warm light out onto the wooden floors of the hall. Elvis Presley lamented on about blue christmases from the depths of the room, and a soft, croaking voice murmured along to the tune.

Amanda sighed and slipped into the room, relief flooding her when she saw the old, worn leather chair by the fire still occupied.

"Oliver, you're still up?" she asked, folding her arms in front of her, rubbing whatever warmth she could into her chilled skin. The man before her smiled, quite cheekily, lifting a glass of sloshing amber liquid from the folds of the quilt that surrounded him. Only his head and slippered feet were visible.

The fire glowed warm and bright, a fact that had her scooting closer.

"Celebrating," he murmured, taking a long sip as the record began to skip beside him. "Power went out."

Amanda shut it off with a sharp click that echoed through the room. So that was the wrongness. Now that she knew she could immediately tell what her anxiety had stemmed from. The antique grandfather clocks, stationed in the study and the upper hall, were silent. Their constant tick tock, tick tock had grown so familiar that their absence was strange and frightening. The hum of the furnace in the basement, the freezing rooms, the frost covering her window - it was from the furnace dying out, along with the electricity.

But now the electricity was back, and the warmth and the hum were still missing.

She stifled a groan. "You're celebrating because the power went out? Did you ever hear the furnace come back on?"

"No," he admitted, in that childishly begrudging way he liked to speak in when he was drinking, "But there was a damn bright flash of light. I think the transformer on that old power line exploded."

Amanda raised one eyebrow, wondering just what kind of spirit was filling his glass. "Okay, but if the furnace hasn't come back on we have a problem."

The furnace had gone out once before - last winter, when a major blizzard had descended on them and left them stranded for three days without heat until John, the local repair man, could brave the storm and come rescue them. She didn't want to go through that again.

The old man shrugged, slumping further into his chair and wrapping the old quilt closer to him. "I feel just dandy where I am."

"Get up, you old drunk."

"No."

Amanda heaved a long, dramatic sigh, rubbing her eyes. She wished she hadn't left her bed at all. "Fine, stay here where it's warm while I go risk my life in the storm. It's no problem."

His eyes flew to hers, drink forgotten, for once. "You're not going out there. Wait 'til morning. We'll be fine in here."

She smiled wanly, leaning over him to place a kiss on his wrinkled forehead. "It's already morning. I have to get John before he heads off for work. Who know's how long we'll have to wait if I can't catch him before he leaves? Besides, Mary will be up making breakfast by the time I get there. I'll take the truck, and everything will be fine."

Oliver shook his head. "That's foolish. You'll break your neck on that ice."

She could see his meaning plain in his eyes. You don't have to do this. She knew it. The thought had been circling in her mind since she realized what had to be done. Just thinking about heading out into the cold, early morning air had her shivering with displeasure, but she had to. There wasn't any other choice.

"We'll lose business if I don't."

Oliver huffed, and that's what he thought of that.

She piled blankets onto his lap and added another log to the fire before she donned her thick winter coat, knitted hat and boots and stepped out the front door, much to Oliver's displeasure.

The cold hit her like a battering ram, a wall of ice that bit viciously into her exposed skin. The landscape was even worse than it had seemed through the window; it was hills and valleys of pure white snow, trees like ice giants dripping with mammoth sized icicles, and a howling wind that threatened to sweep her off her feet. She had never seen anything like it before, and for a moment she paused, staring out over the apocalyptic landscape as the same strange feeling of dread rocketed through her.

She made her way to the car with an awkward, careful jog, sliding straight into the drivers side door and almost smashing her nose.

Flashlight in hand, she climbed into the cab and slammed the door behind her, her breath leaving her in white puffs. The key jammed into the ignition and thank everything that's good, the engine started and the headlights flashed on.

That didn't mean her problems were over. That was especially apparent with the headlights shining over the barely visible driveway. Everything, _everything,_ was covered in shiny layers of ice, and not even the soft downy layer of snow would help keep traction if the chained tires failed.

She adjusted her gloves with a nervous gulp and gripped the steering wheel, maneuvering her way slowly down the rounded driveway, passing the wildly swinging Rosewood Inn sign that looked to be encased in a block of pure, blue ice.

Amanda ignored the rising swell of panic that the sight induced and turned onto the long, dark road.

There had never been any streetlamps on the winding, rural road, they were too far into the country for all the modern conveniences, but it never bothered Amanda. The dark wasn't something she had been afraid of since she was a child - suspicious of, maybe, but not afraid. But the fear was returning, slowly but surely, with every sweep of her headlights across the eerie, frozen road. The canopy of trees above the road used to feel comforting, like they were reaching protective arms out above her, giving her glimpses of the starry sky beyond. But bare and frozen and dripping with long, murderous looking icicles, they were monsters in their own right.

The clock on her dash read 4:50, which meant she had ten minutes until John would be packing up his work truck and heading off for the city. She usually could make it to John and Mary's in only fifteen - but this was not a usual situation, and so her foot inched down on the pedal, leaving her safety zone of 25 miles an hour in favor of accomplishing her - now very dangerous and stupid - goal.

It was only when she made it past the dense forestry and the road straightened out did she let herself relax, turn the radio on and hit a normal speed, John and Mary's quaint little farmhouse outlined on the horizon by the light blue of the soon-coming sunrise.

She had nothing but open road before her and -

She screamed, hitting the brakes and jerking the wheel so fast that the wheels lost all traction, jolting her roughly in her seat as the truck spun on the ice, leaving the road and careening into a snow bank, where it hit the packed snow and edged to a stop.

Gasping, Amanda flung her seatbelt off, wrenching her door open and stumbling into the deep snow. Her heart was crashing in her ribcage and the wind was threatening to toss her off her feet and she had just been in a crash, but she couldn't focus on any of those things - only the body, laying frozen and blue in the middle of the snowy road.

A dead body, that she had almost hit.

She wanted to throw up, to run to her truck and drive as far and as fast as possible. She -she wanted to rush to John's and get him to deal with the dead body lying in the road, hide in Mary's kitchen with a cup of coffee until this was all over - but she couldn't do any of these things.

She was frozen as the land around her, staring with horror at the blue fingers on the road ahead.

_Snap out of it. Go make sure the person isn't still alive._

She couldn't move. She was going to faint. If there was a body... who put it there? The threat of danger, even not directed at her, had adrenaline rushing through her.

_Snap out of it, Amanda! The person could still be alive!_

_Alive._ The thought had her lurching forward, trembling as she climbed out of the ditch and got a full look at the body. Her thoughts went hollow and her mouth went dry.

He laid as if he was stargazing, one arm across his chest and the other by his side in a peaceful pose. His skin was as white as the snow he laid upon - but not blue, not like she had thought she had seen from her truck cab. No, he was all pale skin and bright, thick blood, dark bruises and twisted limbs. Thin spiderwebs of frost danced along pale blue lips and on dark eyelashes, creating patterns on the blood and bruises that marred him, weaving a blanket of frost all around him. He was emaciated and broken, and the sight had Amanda's stomach lurching painfully and tears stinging her eyes. She crept closer, her eyes intent on his face as she approached.

He did not move, so she slowly lowered to her knees by his side.

He was like no one she had ever seen - foreign and noble, with sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw and an aristocratic nose, like a young prince fallen straight out of a gothic fairytale.

She reached out, gingerly feeling for a pulse on the wrist that was not curled on his chest. Touching his skin was like touching dry ice, so cold it burned. He was still, the thrum of life gone.

He was dead. He was stiff and frozen and unmistakably _dead._

The gravity of the situation hit her then, and Amanda wanted to cry for the man laid out in the snow and run far away all at once.

_Oh God, I have to get to John. Call the police._

She struggled to her feet and wiped at the tears that ran tracks down her face, turning away to make it back to her truck still in the ditch.

"_No._.."

She stopped dead, her heart jumping into her throat. _Did he just...?_

A strangled cry sounded behind her and she swiveled around, a cry of her own tearing itself from her throat at the sight before her. The man, the dead man, was moving, his fingers grasping along the icy ground, chest moving with painful, sobbing gasps and face twisted with pain.

Amanda scrambled back to his side, falling down next to him and grabbing his hand.

"Are you okay?" She asked frantically, leaning over him and touching his face with soft fingers, unsure of what to do.

His eyes flew open at the touch, brilliant eyes the color of the ocean staring sightlessly up at her. He inhaled sharply, tears blurring in the corners of his eyes and then falling down the sides of his face.

"No, no, _no_..." the man sobbed, and Amanda's adrenaline kicked in, urging her into action. She couldn't leave him here. She wouldn't. Whatever happened, she would keep him _safe._

"I'm going to help you." she told him forcefully, giving his hand a quick squeeze before standing and running to the truck, jumping in the cab and twisting the key in the ignition until it had no choice but to turn over. It was by sheer force of will that the truck made it out of the snowy ditch and up onto the road, and it was a mix of that sheer will and a lot of adrenaline that got the man wrapped in a blanket, placed in the cab, and Amanda beside him, in less than ten minutes.

She drove as fast as she possibly could, her eyes never straying from the farmhouse, even as the man's cries died and he lost consciousness beside her. She mumbled prayers and pleas under her breath, hysteria bubbling within her, until she was turning into John's driveway, jerking the truck to a stop and dashing into the house like hell was on her heels.

The kitchen was warm and quiet, Mary standing by the stove frying up bacon as John laced his boots at the kitchen table. Her sudden, whirlwind appearance had Mary jumping back, eyes wide with fear. John stood, watching Amanda with uncertainty as she stood, panting.

"Amanda? What's wrong?" John asked, approaching her slowly, as if she was a wild animal. She probably looked it. She definitely felt it.

"A man," she gasped, gesturing wildly to her truck, "in the road. Dead. I thought he was dead -"

"Slow down," Mary ordered, grabbing her by the shoulder. She hadn't even noticed that they had sat her down until she was springing up, running a hand through her hair.

"There was a man in the road," she started again, struggling to unscramble her thoughts, "I thought he was dead. Almost ran him over. But he was alive, and he's in my car, and I need you to go check on Oliver and make sure he's okay, because I'm taking him to the hospital in town."

John was out the door before she could finish her sentence, Mary turning the oven off and sliding into her jacket. "I'm coming with you." she told her firmly, and Amanda could have cried with relief.

John was in the truck checking the strange man's pulse when they emerged seconds later, looking more disturbed than Amanda had ever seen the usually cool and stoic man.

"What happened to him?" He demanded, climbing back out of the truck and closing the door.

"I don't know, but we have to hurry." _He's dying._ She didn't have to say it. The truth was written all over their faces.

"I'm going." John stated firmly, his hand closing around the trucks door handle.

Mary shook her head fiercely, pushing him in the direction of his own work truck.

"Get to Oliver. The storm probably knocked their power out, too. I'll go with them."

Amanda jumped into the truck with the man, reflexively putting her arm around him to lean his slumped form against something other than the hard door. He collapsed against her, eyelids flickering open to reveal glazed blue eyes.

"It's gonna be alright. You're safe." She murmured, smoothing raven black hair, matted with blood, away from his face.

"I fell." he whispered, his eyes widening with realization, as if those two words were the most horrific of truths.

Maybe they were.

Mary took the wheel after that, driving them the thirty miles into town at a terrifying speed, pure determination on her usually sweet face. Her eyes would find the man every few minutes and her expression would buckle with pain before she looked back to the road.

* * *

The sun was rising with brilliant gold and pinks as they pulled up to the ICU drop off, casting light onto the man's broken form and terrified eyes. Mary jumped out of the cab as soon as the truck had stopped, hurrying to the other side and opening the passenger side door, helping Amanda maneuver the man out as they yelled for help.

It was a blur after that as the small hospital flew into emergency mode, transferring the man to a gurney and whisking him off in a flurry of action. Amanda and Mary were directed to a waiting room, where Doctors would come in and throw around words like unstable condition and too much blood loss and might not make it. They asked her constantly what had happened and she numbly repeated her story until it was imprinted in her mind. He was just lying there. I thought he was dead. I got him in my car and rushed him here. No, I didn't run him over, I only found him.

By the time the shock wore off and the haze lifted, the day had already passed, the sun setting through the windows with the same warm gold and pinks they had risen with. She felt worn and tired, her eyes gritty and muscles sore, her shoulders protesting whenever she tried to move them. That was probably from somehow dragging a giant to her truck and shouldering him in. She still had know idea how she did any of the things she did - it was like a strange, awful nightmare. She could only imagine how terrible it was for him.

Someone handed her yet another coffee and patted her shoulder, leaving the waiting room just as quickly as they came. They had already told her to leave, to go home and rest, but that got them nowhere. She was staying because she made a promise, no matter how impossible it seemed. She didn't break promises. She had promised she would keep him safe, and that was what she would do.

Mary entered the room, quietly, and took her seat next to Amanda. The woman looked just as tired as she felt. Dark circles made her brown eyes look severe, and her puff of red hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail, a far cry from the usual 'perky housewife' look she had. Her slight form was buried by the jacket she had grabbed in a hurry before leaving - her husband's jacket, it seemed. Polka dotted night clothes peeked out from under it, all lace and frills. Amanda was distracting herself with the details.

Mary sighed deeply, placing a comforting hand on Amanda's arm, a sad smile on her face. She never was very good at keeping her emotions off of her face, and now they played out like a story across her features - _sadness, pain, uncertainty - hesitancy._

Amanda's stomach dropped. "What is it?"

"Look, you shouldn't worry. It wasn't your fault, so - just head back to Oliver and John, okay? Get some rest-"

"No." Amanda argued, much more firmly than she had meant to. Mary blinked. "No," she said softly, rubbing her forehead. "I can't. I have to be here when he gets out of surgery. I have to see if he's alright."

Pity. Guilt. "Honey..." Mary bit her lip.

"What?" Amanda urged.

Mary sighed, shaking her head. "He's already out of surgery. You looked so drained, and the doctor's said you were in shock so you were completely out of it, and I just didn't want to worry you." she sniffed, looking away. "He was doing really well, the doctors all said the surgery was successful... but he lapsed into a coma about an hour ago, and no one knows why."

Amanda didn't reply. She only stood, leaving the room and heading straight to the nurses station, where she was told the number of the room he was placed in, and then she headed straight there, determined to see him, awake or not.

She knew immediately which room was his by the sheer number of doctors standing outside his window peering in, murmuring to each other and scribbling on clipboards. They stared in like they were studying some animal at a zoo, so caught up in their assessments that Amanda slipped right past them and into the empty room, her eyes finding the man lying unconscious in the bed before anything else.

Amanda stepped into the room, nervously pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

They had cleaned the blood off of him and changed him into one of those blue hospital gowns, set casts on his arms and one leg and bandaged his forehead. IV's had been set into his arm, and multiple tubes connected him to the pole beside him.

He still looked dead, pale and shadowed with blue lips and dark bruises - but now she could see the life lurking beneath the surface, still there but distant, asleep. She could remember eyes as bright as a dawn staring out from that face, wide, terrified eyes. A shaft of fading light cut across him, like gold dust resting on his skin and hair.

Something within her calmed, grew quiet and peaceful watching him. She sank into the nearest chair, exhaustion like a heavy blanket over her. He would be alright.


	3. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

He fell. Past planets and galaxies, down each long branch of Yggdrasil, hurtling towards infinite darkness that he longed to reach but never would. The stars swirled around him in a dizzying vortex of light, pulling at him as he plummeted through time and space and dimensions he doesn't understand. He screamed, but the sound was drowned out by the howling wind and a fast pounding that will not subside. Voices called to him, rising to a crescendo as he twisted and grappled for purchase in the empty air.

_"I will find you, monster!"_ yelled Thor, so close and so loud he could feel it vibrate through his head. Loki starts to shake.

Odin was before him, terrifying in his rage. "_You fool! You were never his equal!"_

Fear gripped him tight, like cold, diseased fingers closing around his throat - fear for his fate, for the monster he is and the deep loneliness he cannot shake. The specters vanished but their voices remained, taunting him, swirling around and around. He doesn't know if he will ever stop falling, alone in the emptiness of space, and panic rises within him, bubbling to the surface. Alone. Falling. Forever.

_"Can you hear me?"_ someone whispered, soft and muted. For a moment Loki thought it was the spirit's calling out to him, tormenting him. But it comes again.

_"You're safe. I'm keeping you safe."_ the same voice whispered. He clung to it through the chaos and pain until the moaning wind died and the voices fell silent. Finally, he drifted away, falling into darkness.

When he came to he felt like he had been torn apart and sewn back together again with feeble, fraying thread. His thoughts were muddled and confused, overtaken by throbbing pain that radiated throughout his body. He could feel every smashed bone and torn muscle, every gash and pulsing bruise. It overwhelmed him and threatened to pull him back under, but he fought it, grasping for clarity.

_Where was he?_

He peeled his swollen eyes open, slowly, wincing at the intense brightness of his surroundings. He shut his eyes quickly, a pained sound tearing itself from his aching throat.

Voices murmured from somewhere near, speaking in low tones that he could not hear. Something was beeping incessantly beside him - an alarm. The high-pitched cry sped up, and the voices grew louder, the words slowly coming into focus. Something moved toward him, weight leaning against his bed. He tensed.

"Hey!" Someone exclaimed, someone with a voice that reminded him of falling. "Are you awake? Can you speak?"

He tried again to open his lids, but they merely fluttered before closing again. He caught a glimpse of a blurred shape and figures moving around his bed. The intense, pulsing pain was taking over his mind, drowning him.

He must have lost consciousness, because when he next was aware of himself there were different voices beside him, and the high-pitched beeping had evened out to a calm beat. Someone was smoothing back his hair with smooth, soft strokes, like Frigga had done to him when he was a child. For a moment he leaned into it, an echo of an old lullaby playing through his mind. Some distant part of him was aware of who he was, of what people called him. _God of Mischief, Master of Lies. Son of Odin - Laufey._ _Monster._ But they held no meaning to him, he could not comprehend their importance. He could remember where he came from but not the emotions that should have been tied to it. He was a shell of a man, carrying the disconnected memories of another. His mind swam with them, mixing with the agonizing throb pain until he could not decipher what was real and what was not.

"Frankly, Mary, you're lucky you got him to us in time," someone was saying, "He's recovering at a steady pace, but nothing is certain right now." There's the sound of papers shuffling, and a soft voice asks a question he cannot quite make out.

"No," a different man said, perhaps in reply to the soft voice, "this looks like assault. Hell, it looks like attempted murder, and I would guess it's personal, even familial, if Dr. Wilton's reports are any indication. Internal scar tissue across his back, stomach and neck, and some of the scans show signs of old breaks and fractures in strange places. Who knows what the puncture wounds around his mouth are from. If that's not the classic signs of physical abuse then I don't know what is."

The hand stilled against his hair and Loki stiffened reflexively. The room went quiet.

"He's waking up again." The woman exclaimed, and a hand touched his arm abruptly. He flinched, his eyes flying open.

The room was dark, shadowy figures looming over. One - a man - reached for him and Loki shrank away, his mind switching between reality and his cell faster than he could comprehend.

"Hey, it's okay! You're safe. I'm your doctor. You're safe."

They came into focus, slowly, until he could see each unfamiliar face standing before him. _Mortals._

He was on Midgard. Of all places he could have been condemned to, it was Midgard's unforgiving land that he crushed into. He groaned, a stab of fear hitting him.

"Can you tell us your name? Birth date maybe?" The Doctor asked, leaning over to assess him with clinical grey eyes.

Loki opened his mouth to answer, but the words caught in his throat. _Dangerous. Stay Hidden._

"Where am I?" He asked instead.

"You're in Brooks County Hospital, son." The other person, a gruff, older man with thinning hair, stepped up to his bed, giving him a quick nod. "I'm Officer Kendell."

Loki nodded. He recognized the uniform he wore from one of the vague, disconnected memories floating around his mind. He had killed a man who looked much the same.

He wondered if that was why the man was here. _Revenge._

Instinctively, he felt for his magic, pushing against it's cage until the familiar burst of pain hit him. The old spell had not broken. It was still locked, and that left him almost as defenseless as a human, unprotected and weak. Panic sparked within him.

"Can you remember your name?"

Loki shook his head, eyeing the men cautiously. One of them had to recognize him - it couldn't have been very long ago that he had destroyed one of their largest cities. What would they do when they found out, if they didn't already know? Call the Avengers? Bring down Thor?

His chest clenched and dizziness overtook him, his vision growing blurry. He cannot understand what's wrong with him; some part of him had broken in the void, he is sure of it, but something left as well and did not return. He is left feeling hollow and broken, like the little boy that had cowered and hid in his mother's skirts.

He did not notice his hands trembling until Mary took one in her warm grasp, leaning closer to him. She had kind brown eyes and a face that had experienced life but was not yet worn down by it. One hand rested against a rounded stomach protectively, with the same care that she took his hand.

"Look, it's alright," she assured him, "don't push yourself to remember things too fast. They'll come back to you in their own time."

Officer Kendell shot her a look, but otherwise remained quiet.

Loki nodded. "Very well. Thank you."

Mary smiled, squeezing his hand. "You're welcome, sweetie. I'm going to go get Amanda from the cafeteria. She won't be too happy you woke up without her."

Mary disappeared from the room and the Officer took her chair, the Doctor leaning against the wall on the other side. Loki couldn't help but feel like he was about to be interrogated. He was saved by the nurse coming in to take his vitals and remove the annoying thing from his nose - a breathing tube, they called it. She poked him with a small needle and inserted something blue into his vein that sent a rush of warmth straight through him and eased the throbbing pain until it was nothing more than an afterthought.

"Alright, son. We just want to ask you a few questions." The Officer stated as soon as the door closed behind the nurse. Loki stiffened, drawing out of his lax state immediately.

"It's nothing to be afraid of," The healer assured him, "your answers will not be repeated. You are completely safe here, no one can hurt you."

Loki fought the urge to roll his eyes. The Thunder God could find him even if he was hidden in Yggdrasil's roots. With Heimdall as the Gatekeeper, he would never be safe. The thought had him tensing even more. Was Thor already looking for him? Would he be crashing the door open at any moment?

"We have ways of keeping a person hidden if they need to be." Officer Kendall told him, a fierceness in his eyes that told Loki the man believed every word he said. Loki could do nothing but allow them to ask their questions. He nodded.

"Alright, first question," the Officer continued. "Do you remember who did this to you?"

_He saw the guards above him, laughing cruelly as he curled in on himself. He saw Odin, condemning him to silence with a needle and thread. He saw himself falling, the bridge above him._

"I cannot recall."

The healer looked suspicious, but held his silence.

"Can you remember anything about how your injuries came to be that may help us?"

"I-" he could only remember feeling frozen, ice in his blood and all around him. Someone leaning over him, calling to him. "It was cold."

Officer Kendall nodded for him to continue. "That is all."

"That's it?" the Officer raised a brow, pinning him with a stare.

"I do not remember much else."

"It's possible your mind is suppressing your memories until you can properly deal with them. Short term amnesia is not uncommon in these types of cases." The healer told him, sharing a quick look with the Officer. "You're sure there's nothing you could tell us that would help us with your case?"

Loki sighed deeply, giving each man as regretful of a look a he could manage. "I am certain."

"Alright." the healer conceded, somewhat warily. "How about we ask some simpler questions? These will help us treat you as accurately as possible. Okay?"

"Of course."

By the time they finally left him alone he was exhausted, his body using every reserve of energy to knit his injuries back together. He was a Jotunn, he healed just as quickly as the Aesir and should have been on his feet mere hours after his fall, but with his magic bound inside of him, he could do nothing but wait and plan his escape. But waiting, in a silent, empty room, was proving to be much more difficult than he imagined.

He was just drifting, galaxies behind his eyelids, when the door creaked open.

"Are you awake?" Mary asked softly, moving across the room to his side. He opened his eyes, finding her sitting in her chair beside him. She smiled. "This is Amanda. She's the one who found you."

Loki's eyes wandered to the girl beside her, slight and unassuming. She was younger than Mary, brighter, as well - like a sun lived behind her eyes, or she had tasted one of Asgard's golden apples. She pushed a strand of auburn hair behind her ear, a slight smile coming to her lips.

"Hi. I'm Amanda." Her voice was soft - familiar. Like he had heard it in a dream.

_"Are you okay?"_

_"It's alright. I'm gonna keep you safe."_

"You are the one who found me." It was not a question. He did not recognize her - but he remembered her voice, echoing in his head as he fell through endless space.

Her eyes widened. "Do you remember?"

The rumble of an engine, an unfamiliar, cracking tune - _sharp, relentless_ pain.

"Bits and pieces. I believe I was unconscious for most of it."

She winced. "You were in a lot of pain. I'm just glad you're alright."

The mortal woman was kind, like the other. There was a warmth in her that he did not think mortals capable of, at least not from his experience. What part of Midgard was he in, that the people could be so unassumingly affectionate towards strangers? He wouldn't squander their strange sympathy, no matter how foolish it seemed. "Thank you. I am eternally grateful for your help."

Amanda laughed shortly, shaking her head as if he had said something strange. "You're welcome - say, what's your name? I've been calling you 'that guy' in my head for a week now."

Mary shook her head. "Oh no, hon, he can't remember his name. He-"

"I've been unconscious for a _week?_" Loki interrupted, his hands tightening into fists.

The room went silent, and Amanda bit her lip, glancing down at her hands. "You were in a coma. The doctors said your body needed to rest and recover. We were... really worried." She looked up, frowning at the look on his face. "Did they not tell you?"

"No... they did not... it couldn't possibly have been so long." He was reeling, his mind searching for reasons why he could have possibly been asleep for a week and still not even close to healed. What had happened to him? What was he? Had everything been stripped of him?

"Hey, hey!" Mary snapped her fingers in front of his face, gripping his shoulder. "Calm down, everything's okay!"

Amanda was on her feet on the other side of the bed, watching his face with concern etched across her features. "I'm sorry, I didn't think... look, you were really hurt. A normal person wouldn't have made it through that." there was a determination in her bright eyes that caught his attention, a protectiveness that he had never seen another person look at him with. "Honestly, you should have been out for much longer than you were. A week is nothing."

A part of him relaxed at her words, processing them as truth. But his mind still twisted with panic, calculating the time it would take for Heimdall to target him and Thor to travel to him, capture him and throw him back into the torture he had only just escaped...

But a week, no matter how long it seemed to him, was only a short time of healing for the mortals, which had to mean something. He knew the thrum of magic was still inside him, working on his healing from within. For now, he would do what he must; hide himself, and wait for it to be over.


End file.
